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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590561">Call &amp; Response</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubspaceJetWitch/pseuds/SubspaceJetWitch'>SubspaceJetWitch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boys (TV 2019), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Found Family, Gen, Social Commentary, Sort Of Original Work At This Point, gruesome, serial numbers filed off</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:29:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubspaceJetWitch/pseuds/SubspaceJetWitch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Deku was mentored by Billy Butcher?</p><p>WARNING: Characters talk about rape, death and transphobia</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. See The Devil On The Doorsteps Now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Taking a break from fluffy smut, I decided to have a go on some good old-fashioned ultra-violence. I had just finished watching season 2 of The Boys, and rather immediately, I had an idea about some sort of crossover fic with My Hero Academia flowing in my head. Not long after that, I rather quickly realized that it'd be pretty much impossible to justify having both canons remain intact when merged, so decided that there had to be some rather major modifications in order to make it work. Characters and locations have been renamed, replaced, split, merged, spilt &amp; merged, removed, added and/or transformed, in order for the two plotlines to fuse with as little friction as possible. Ultimately, I found that answering the question of "What if Deku was mentored by Billy Butcher?", meant I basically had to write something that may as well classify as an original work.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The run down, undecorated commemoration hall was silent, and almost empty of people, save for one green-haired teenage girl in a blood-stained high school uniform. The coffin at the altar was even emptier; there was nothing left of Yui Ruki’s mother to bury. Despite the loss earlier that day being so sudden and brutal, Yui was still struggling to muster even a single tear. Those solemn fifteen minutes felt like an eternity and a half to her, where nothing was ever allowed to happen. Finally, though, her agonizing paralysis was broken by who was supposedly the funeral host, entering the hall.</p><p class="western">In came a rugged, middle-aged neko-man sporting a swooshing, black trenchcoat, a tacky, Hawaiian shirt way too inappropriate for mourning cermonies, and a charcoal beard big enough to impress even the most Canadian of pirates. He stepped onto the altar, gave the coffin an honorary glance, and started reading out loud the memorial from his smartphone, “Today, we honour the life, and accept the departure, of Ai Ruki. She was a loving daughter, sister, friend, wife, mother.” He looked at the only attendant for a second, before carrying on, “She always knew how to light up the room when times seemed the most dark. She always had a nugget of wisdom for whenever no solution was apparent. When sheep were leading wolves, she was the wolf leading her sheep. It is therefore extra painful today, to learn just how easy it is to lose such a brilliant soul like hers. That is however, a truth we all must learn one way or another, sooner or later, and it’s what ultimately, she wanted us to learn. Amen.”</p><p class="western">Yui looked at the stranger in his eyes for five seconds straight, before she said, “I thought I had requested a Buddhist funeral service.”</p><p class="western">“Well, sorry if I couldn’t get Dalai fucking Lama to come and cry on your shoulder, love,” the man responded while defeatedly shrugging his arms. “Or, pretty much anyone, for that matter. Trust me, I’ve been to enough poor sod's funerals with zero attendants, to know that most of the time, nobody gives a fuck about you when you’re dead.”</p><p class="western">Yui was silent for half a second before saying, “She was my mother.”</p><p class="western">“Great!” he cheered. That joy quickly faded away, though, when he added, “Far from everyone are fortunate enough to have someone mourning their loss; that’s sadly becoming rarer and rarer these days. I mean, none of her friends showed up, her parents didn’t show up. Heck, even your dad is absent. You’re the only one who cared enough about her to attend her fucking funeral. To all else, she’s void.”</p><p class="western">Finally, Yui began crying.</p><p class="western">The washed up priest let out a depressed sigh, and made his way to sit right next to the crying woman. Putting on his trying-his-best-to-comfort-others-voice, he told her, “Look, I’m sorry for what I said. Too often, I say things that ends up leaving me in the dirt.”</p><p class="western">“No, no, don’t be sorry,” Yui cried out. “I’ve been trying to cry all day, and you helped me. Otherwise, I would’ve called you the worst priest ever.”</p><p class="western">“Well, truth of the matter is, I’m not a priest,” the non-priest admitted. “Or, much of anything, really. In fact, if the official records are to be believed, I never even existed.”</p><p class="western">Yui kept what he said in mind, as she vented the rest of her grief. When she finally felt she had sniffled out her last tear, Yui asked the stranger, “So, who are you exactly?”</p><p class="western">“The name’s Tommy Toa,” he said, reaching out for a handshake. “Your only chance of avenging your mother’s death.”</p><p class="western">“Avenging?” Yui asked in confusion, as she slowly pulled out her hand to his.</p><p class="western">“Say, you like superheroes?” Tommy asked back, as he shook hands with her.</p><p class="western">“I do...” Yui awkwardly answered. When she let go of his hand, she asked, “How come you ask?”</p><p class="western">“Your Facebook profile and all its posts are public, and finding your Google search history was about as piss-easy,” Tommy answered. “Those records I saw, heavily implied you spend a lot of time studying superheroes, their quirks and techniques, notebooks and everything. Maybe even that you want to become a superhero, yourself.”</p><p class="western">“Well, about that...” Yui said, looking down on the floor. “I can’t.”</p><p class="western">“Qurikless...” Tommy commented. “That means you have even more reason to seek revenge.”</p><p class="western">“What do you mean?” Yui asked.</p><p class="western">“You should’ve probably figured out by now, that it was someone with a crazy powerful quirk who got your mum all over your blouse,” Tommy said.</p><p class="western">Yui blinked extra hard, before she said, “Yeah, but that must’ve been some villain, right? Surely, that monster must’ve been caught by now, and the police will me to tell me who did it, and they will put me in some fosterer's care, right?. After all, it happened in broad daylight, there were eye witnesses!”</p><p class="western">“Yeah, sure it was a villain...” Tommy said with a doubtful tone. He then stood up from his chair, and reached his hand to Yui. “Come outside, I want to show you something.”</p><p class="western">Yui agreed to follow, but on their way out, she felt the urge to ask Tommy, “Wait, are you suggesting a hero did this? Why would they do ever do that?”</p><p class="western">When they stepped out of the funerary bureau, Tommy gestured at all the LED billboards lighting up the streets, they were all advertisements featuring superheroes. “This is why,” he said. “Look at all the shit these cunts are selling: blockbuster movies, video games, theme park rides, Funko Pops, soda flavours that only last one season, awkward PSAs that kids will make memes out of a year from now.”</p><p class="western">Yui, standing there awkwardly, said, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow.”</p><p class="western">“My point is,” Tommy continued. “Superheroes are a trillion dollar industry, and almost all of that money comes from advertisement. But if one of those cunts makes a single fuckup on duty, in public, all that money goes down the shitter. So superhero agencies spend fortunes on predictive system AIs, meant to calculate the least risky paths to successfully execute missions. But here’s the bloody kicker: those AIs are programmed to allow collateral damage. Nobody was ever arsed to construct any zero-harm strategies, so what they do instead, is to make sure that whoever happens to be in the crossfire, are so insignificant that they have no loved ones to sue the agency’s knickers off. Remember those unattended funerals I mentioned earlier? Those were all for victims of superheroes, saving the day. Most of the time, those shitheads never even notice the civilian casualties.”</p><p class="western">Yui took deep breathes, staring into the undetermined middle distance, before she asked, “How... how can they get away with this? Why has nobody noticed this!?”</p><p class="western">“A bill to lift a shit-ton of regulations, was passed through parliament without struggle a few years ago, back when the news media were collectively shitting their pants over those refugee camps,” Tommy explained. “Oh, and did I mention all the lobbying, by the way? The agencies basically bribe all political parties to never speak ill-”</p><p class="western">“Shut up, shut up, please, SHUT UP!” Yui abruptly yelled. “Why are you telling me all this? What does this have to do with me being... well...”</p><p class="western">“Orphaned? Quirkless?” Tommy guessed. He wobbled around for a bit, looking for the right words to use, before he settled with, “Look, I’m sorry if I came off as a bit incoherent. You see, I have to be honest with you: I fucking hate superheroes. All my life, they’ve been nothing but a pain. As a kid, I constantly got bullied for these cutesy cat ears of mine, and the bullies? Wound up becoming successful superheroes with mansions, yachts and jailbait harems up to their eyeballs; some of them even got away with sexual assault scandals. For example, you know Grape?”</p><p class="western">“Like, the rapper?” Yui asked. “The guy with superglue hairballs, making songs about stealing villains’ girlfriends?”</p><p class="western">“Yeah, him,” Tommy answered. He then went on to explain, “Ten years ago, I was supposed to testify as a witness, to prove that he had groomed several underaged Stardust girls. But the day before the trial, I came home to find my wife and two daughters raped, skinned and maimed; their throats were stuffed with human faeces and horse cocks. On their bellies, it was tattooed on with purple ink, ‘Kill yourself’. On the table, I found a revolver with a note saying, ‘This will hurt less’.”</p><p class="western">“That’s... unnecessarily brutal,” Yui commented.</p><p class="western">“As you can probably guess, I got shit-scared. So I faked my own death, and went underground,” Tommy said. He then gestured at one of the billboard, saying, “And now, Grape is bigger than ever before.”</p><p class="western">Looking at where Tommy was pointing, Yui saw an ad of Grape posing with Castitas. The slogan underneath read, “Protect women and girls from the sinners! #YesTo17” Her eyes grew puzzled and she turned to him to ask, “17? As in that locker room bill?”</p><p class="western">“Pretty hypocritical, don’t you think?” Tommy said. “Somehow, the supposed Leader of Feminism, Castitas, thinks accidentally seeing a dick in the ladies’ room is of more pressing concern, than serial rapists continuing to have a platform. And guess what? Those two cunts are just the tip of the iceberg; the whole industry is filled with nothing but irredeemable monsters.”</p><p class="western">Yui fell on her knees and had her lips trembling, on the verge of crying again.</p><p class="western">“You sure you still wanna be a superhero, love?” Tommy asked.</p><p class="western">“I do, but...” Yui answered, before she looked at him and said, “But not like this. Not like fucking this!”</p><p class="western">Tommy lightly patted her back and said, “Atta girl.” He then help her back up on her feet and asked her, “I know this must’ve been the most exhausting day of your life. You probably need to go home and get some rest. There’s more you need to know, but I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”</p><p class="western">“I.. I can’t...” Yui said.</p><p class="western">“Can’t what? Go home?” Tommy asked.</p><p class="western">Yui nodded. “I don’t have my keys on me.”</p><p class="western">Tommy then asked, “Well, do you have anybody’s place to crash at? Grandparents? Friends? Anyone?”</p><p class="western">Yui shook her head.</p><p class="western">Tommy let out a sigh and said, “Look, I’ll tell you what. How about we go into the closest H&amp;M to buy you some fresh new clothes, so you don’t have to look like Carrie any longer, and sleep on my couch? Does that sound like a good idea?”</p><p class="western">“Thank you, <em>sensei</em>,” Yui said. “I think that will do.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Most of the time, I'm very much not a fan of the whole edgy-for-the-sake-of-being-edgy shtick, but I eventually decided that that was the tone I had to go with in this fic, at least initially. Don't worry, I'm planning to try making future chapters not as dark</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. My, Oh My</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">“Eggs in nest and homemade chai latte,” Tommy s<span>poke</span> cheerfully, while serving the breakfast to himself and Yui. He took a confident sip of the foamed milk, and said, “Ah, a sugar rush that almost puts y<span>o</span><span>u</span> to sleep, that’s how I like to start my day!”</p><p class="western">Yui didn’t touch her food, and instead just turned her gaze back towards the wall filled with cut-out articles, written notes, photos, pins and strings. Slightly concerned over the amount of work it must’ve taken to construct this collage, she asked, “You some kind of conspiracy theorist, or something?”</p><p class="western">“You may call me as such,” Tommy answered. “But not the nutty scam artist kind; unlike that overgrown cranberry everybody likes to make fun of, I actually do my job properly, and follow the money.”</p><p class="western">Satisfied with what she heard, Yui <span>turned back to the table</span> and began digging in. In between two bites, she said, “Putting herbs on top of the yolk was a <span>pretty good</span> idea.”</p><p class="western">“The wonders some tiny leaves can do to an otherwise too hearty meal, right?” Tommy commented. “Should give you enough carbs and proteins to help you survive school this lovely Tuesday.”</p><p class="western">“Yeah... school...” Yui said.</p><p class="western">“Yeah. Where do you study?”</p><p class="western">“<span>Big Ben High</span>, third year economic program. Given the universities I’d be able to get into after, I’d most likely end up becoming yet another anonymous office drone, paying me enough to start a family and retire by age 70. At least, that’s what I’ve been told over and over by various counsellors, that that’s the best I can settle for.”</p><p class="western">A moment of silence passe<span>d</span>, before Tommy sa<span>id</span>, “You don’t want to settle, do you?”</p><p class="western">Yui cut up an extra large piece of toast for herself, that she took her time angrily chew before she could swallow it. When her mouth was free again, she said, “You shouldn’t have said those things yesterday.”</p><p class="western">“What things?” Tommy asked.</p><p class="western">“You remember Smashmaster? When... I was like, four, I saw a clip of him saving people from a fire, carrying them by the dozens. Back then, I thought it was the most awesome thing I had ever seen, and I wanted to be just like him, protecting as many as possible from getting hurt. So I began asking my mother for Smashmaster merch; costumes, action figures, plushies, the works. I made drawings of me fighting alongside him, I came up with all sorts of hero names for myself, like Little Miss Smashmaster and such. But then, the bad news came, in plural.”</p><p class="western">“Poor sod got his insides obliterated, didn’t he?”</p><p class="western">“He survived, luckily, but he had to retire,” Yui answered. She then picked up her smartphone to show Tommy a selfie of her with Smashmaster, saying, “Here we are at the rehab centre he lives in now, from a couple of years ago; he was glad to see a superfan like myself, but he wasn’t very talk-active.”</p><p class="western">“I’d figure,” Tommy commented. “Not much to say, if <span>the only thing</span> you can do all day, is play solitaire and cough blood.”</p><p class="western">“He did tell me one thing when I visited, though. Something that has stuck with me ever since.”</p><p class="western">Tommy gulped the last sip of his cup, and asked, “And what would that be?”</p><p class="western">“I had talked to him about my childhood; about how my heart got broken after the doctors told me I’d never develop a quirk, how I’d constantly be the butt of the joke in daycare, in primary, and even in secondary, because of that. How my entire extended family disavowed my mother and me, referring to us two as ‘mistakes’. Hearing all that, he then told me, ‘You too can become a hero.’” Yui took a deep breath after venting all that. After that, she continued, “Sure, there may have been days since, when I seriously doubted <span>that</span> what he said was actually true, but like I said, it stuck with me; I refuse to ever have <span>his words</span> disproven.”</p><p class="western">Placing his elbows on the table and leaning his head forward, Tommy said, “Well, I’ll tell you one thing, Little Miss Smashmaster. I think that old geezer was <span>completely</span> right.” He then stood up from his chair, going around to collect his things, while saying, “For one thing, you’re still a hopeless romantic; no one is ever th<span>is</span> naive or sincere after going through all the pain you’ve gone through. Secondly, do you happen to have one of <span>those</span> hero notebooks of yours on you? I just want to double-check something.”</p><p class="western">Yui pointed at her backpack, laying by the <span>couch</span> she had slept on. “In the big pocket, it’s the one covered in blood,” she said.</p><p class="western">After he picked it up and skimmed through its written content, Tommy said, “Well, I’ll be fucked sideways. I mean, you may not have the juice that turns you into a supersaiyan circus freak, <span>BUT</span>...” He slammed the book and held it up to show it to Yui, saying, “Your observational skills are through the roof. That means, you’d never get swallowed by the cogs of the superhero machinery; you’d smell the foul bollocks from a thousand miles away.”</p><p class="western">“Doesn’t change the fact that you tried your best to break my heart last night,” Yui said. “Back there, you sounded a lot like you were trying to talk me out of ever becoming a hero, and trust me, you’re far from first one.”</p><p class="western">“Look...” was all Tommy said before he got interrupted.</p><p class="western">“Don’t you dare try rationalizing this,” Yui barked back. She stood up from her chair, walked up to To<span>m</span>my, and said, “Do you have any idea what it feels like seeing injustice knowing there’s nothing you can do about it? I haven’t watched the news for nearly two years now, just to remain sane, to keep what little hope I have left. Now tell me, what do you think I have to gain from becoming as cynical as you?”</p><p class="western">Tommy scratched one of his cat ears and answered, “Honestly? 100 percent less than I thought when I met you. I figured those Bambi eyes of yours were in dire need of a truth bomb, but...” He shrugged and said, “I guess I just underestimated you.”</p><p class="western">Yui grabbed the notebook from Tommy’s hands, and <span>returned it to her backpack. When she sealed the zipper, she asked, “So what do you want me to do? I’ve got history class in about an hour, so should I go there, pretend as if none of this ever happened, that we’ve never met?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Either that, or you can come with me,” </span><span>Tommy answered. He reached his hand out and said,</span><span> “</span><span>I think you and I might make a mighty team; together, we may actually be able to bring down the cunts that keep fucking us in the arse.</span><span>”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>And what would that entail?</span><span>” </span><span>Yui asked.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Let’s go for a ride out of town,” Tommy answered. “I need to show you something.”</span></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Telling Everybody how to Live Their Lives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The stated purpose of Monument City Pentagon’s Superhero Activities Division, is to monitor the <span>movements and actions of superheroes. </span><span>T</span><span>his department issues out missions </span><span>to</span><span> the superhero agencies to register </span><span>for</span><span>, and awards points to those who complete the quests in proper order. While the official documents state that the assessment process should remain completely impartial, the practical reality portrays a rather grim battleground, where might makes right. The </span><span>vast amount of</span><span> superhero agencies involved, constantly influence the creation, assignment, supervision and evaluation of the objectives, and the more violence the agency’s superheroes can deal, the more influence they have over the system.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>At the very top of this food chain is Virtutum Propugnatores, an agency consisting of what </span>
  <span>the general public</span>
  <span> would argue are the seven mightiest superheroes currently active. While this agency doesn’t have an officially stated president, the self-made god among men, Industria, has practically made himself the de facto leader of his team. Every </span>
  <span>forenoon, precisely when the clock strikes ten, Industria enters Pentagon, to check that no employee in the control room is acting against his interests. This habit has grown into little more than a symbolic ritual, though, since the control room is nowadays nothing but a glorified TV hall; all the actual operations have been automatized and outsourced to various servers along the Arctic circle. Still, there would almost always be an MCPSAD employee at that time do greet Industria, and today was no different.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Planning on saving the world today, Industria?” the starstruck intern asked the imposing muscle mass of a man. Their clipboard was wobbling between their hands, and their glass shook so much on their own, that it looked like they were going to fall off any time soon.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>The da</span>
  <span>pper</span>
  <span> hero straightened his black, unbuttoned blazer, and pointed behind the intern, at a giant display of the world map, with the locations of all the currently available, running and completed missions. With a </span>
  <span>generous amount of articulation</span>
  <span>, he spoke, “The Yemenites are fighting for injustice, for an evil cause. They abhor all the values we stand for, what we’ve sacrificed so much to keep taking for granted. That means they bring about destruction and suffering wherever they tread, but fortunately for us, that means they will bring about no doom to anyone but themselves.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Of course, sir!” the intern responded. “That’s because, you’re going to easily take them down, right?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>No no, that’s not it... Stone,” Industria said. “They will lose because they’re lazy, wasteful and easily distracted. Like I said, they don’t believe in what you and I believe in, which is hard work, moderation and self-discipline.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Right,” Stone said, finally managing to hold their clipboard still.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Looking around at the since long empty seats, Industria said, “You know, I miss the days when this venerated hall, this temple, was filled with young, dextrous operatives, breaking every sweat possible to guide us all to victory. To greatness.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>It had its charm, not going to lie,</span><span>” </span><span>Stone lied.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>You know, when they decided to computerize this department, I took it on me to step into the negotiation process,” Industria told them. “I made it very clear back then, that no deal would go through unless it would create more jobs than these new machines would replace. </span><span>Well,</span><span> ‘replace’ was the word </span><span>Pentagon</span><span> used, but I felt it didn’t signal the severity of the situation; </span><span>d</span><span><em>estroyed</em></span><span><span> jobs, that’s what those supercomputers did. Granted, they’re so poorly built that the maintenance crews ended up becoming many more than the seats we see here, but they consist wholly of completely different workers, spread across the globe. Each night, I think about all those who got laid off after that, how they may never truly know struggle, ever again. That, my friend, is a true modern tragedy.</span></span><span>”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hen, a beep came from his chest. It was an old-fashioned, meticulously crafted pocket watch carried by a sturdy brass necklace, signalling that it was five past ten. </span>
  <span>Industria opened the watched and took a second to look at the mechanical hands tick with atomic precision, just as he had specified to the watchmaker. He then closed the watch, and told Stone, “Remember, time is of the essence,” before rapidly zooming out of the building.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Stone couldn’t see the movements of Industria disappearing; they only felt the strong gust of air that was pushed aside to make room for his exit. </span>
  <span>Feeling disappointed over meeting this living legend, Stone thought to themselves, </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>He said nothing of value to me.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
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